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10.04.2013

Confessions of a Ghost Story Addict

I have an addiction. I’m fascinated by ghost
stories. Now, I’m gonna say right off that I believe in the supernatural. I
believe there is an unseen realm that isn’t visible to the human eye, but
whether or not the supernatural manifests in the form of apparitions… Well, I’m
a skeptic. However, my skepticism doesn’t keep me from being fascinated.

For my thirtieth wedding anniversary, my
wonderful husband, Larry, reserved us a room at the Excelsior Hotel in
Jefferson, Texas. Although the wonderful group of philanthropic ladies that own
the hotel don’t want to talk about it, ghost stories surrounding the old hotel
abound.

The Excelsior Hotel, Jefferson, Texas

Probably the most popular ghost story in
Jefferson is the haunting of Diamond Bessie. Here is a condensed version of
what Wikipedia said about Diamond Bessie.

Diamond Bessie was a prostitute who was murdered in the woods outside Jefferson. She was shot
in the head in the early afternoon of Sunday, January 21, 1877. Her accused
killer was her lover Abraham Rothschild.

She was apparently good at her chosen “profession” because her
male admirers showered her with gifts of diamond jewelry, thus the nickname
Diamond Bessie.

Bessie worked in brothels in Cincinnati, New Orleans, and finally Hot Springs, Arkansas, where she met Rothschild.
She was pressuring Rothschild to marry her and his reluctance to legitimize
their relationship may have been what motivated her murder.

Diamond Bessie and Abe Rothschild

Their relationship was reported to be tumultuous, marred by alcoholism and
physical abuse. There are claims that Rothschild forced Bessie to prostitute
herself during their travels together. In Cincinnati, Rothschild was arrested
for beating her, and she accused him of trying to steal her diamonds. In
January 1877, the couple registered at the Brooks House in Jefferson, Texas, as “A. Munroe and wife.” Their fine
clothes and Bessie's diamonds impressed the locals.

On the morning of January 21, Rothschild bought a picnic
lunch, and the couple crossed the bridge at Cypress Bayou and left town walking
along the road to Marshall. It was noted by a witness that she was wearing her
diamonds when they left town. About three hours later, Rothschild returned to
Jefferson without Bessie. When questioned, Rothschild claimed she had stayed with
some friends across the Bayou. The following morning, he was seen eating alone
and wearing Bessie's rings. On the morning of Tuesday the 23rd, he took a train
to Cincinnati, carrying Bessie’s luggage with him.

Her body was found February 5, fully clothed, and absent her
famous jewelry. The remnants of a picnic lunch were still scattered about. After
an investigation into her death, Rothschild was extradited to Texas to stand
trial for the murder of Diamond Bessie Moore. It was Texas' first big murder trail.
The case finally went to trial in December 1878 in Marshall. Rothschild was
convicted, but the conviction was overturned on appeal.

Diamond Bessie and her murder became a local legend. Every
year during Jefferson’s Pilgrimage Festival, a play entitled The Diamond Bessie
Murder Trial is
performed. Diamond Bessie's grave in Jefferson's Oakwood Cemetery is a popular
tourist attraction.

No, we didn’t see the ghost of Diamond Bessie while we were
in Jefferson. In fact, we didn’t see any ghosts at all. Although we stayed in
the Lady Bird Johnson room at the Excelsior Hotel, we didn’t even get the
“feel” there was anyone in our room besides us. Of course, most of the stories
coming out of the Excelsior centered around the Jay Gould room that was next
door to our room.

The Lady Bird Johnson Room, Excelsior Hotel, Jefferson, Texas

I did see some “ghostly” looking trees along the Bayou near
Jefferson. Check out the picture below. I think I could set a horror story in that swamp.

I’ve been so fascinated by ghost stories that I’m writing
one entitled The Unmistakable Scent of
Gardenias. This book is set in an old run down plantation house in south
Louisiana. The owner is refurbishing the old home to its former splendor, but
not without the renovations stirring up some paranormal activity. If you love a
good ghost story, I think you’ll love this book. Here’s an excerpt to whet your
ghostly appetite.

She slipped into the
wide upper hall and across to the bathroom. Moonlight slithered through an uncovered
window, sending rays of soft light across the floor and up the far wall, making
her cotton nightgown glow bright white. With her heart in her throat, she turned
the knob, cracked open the bathroom door on squeaky hinges, and wiggled inside.
Before she could take another breath, she had dropped to her knees and was
retching into the stained toilet bowl. Her whole body trembled as she leaned on
the porcelain that wasn’t quite bolted tight enough to the rotting floorboards.

When she flushed, the
foul remains of her supper didn’t swirl all the way down. She didn’t want to
flush again, but she had no choice. If she didn’t, Les would know about her
weak stomach. How could she tell her husband that intimate relations with him
made her vomit?

She waited until the
tank refilled and flushed again. The pipes in the old house groaned enough to
wake the dead. She rose slowly on shaky legs and turned the tap. A sludge of
dirty water gurgled from the corroded faucet. She used some of the nasty mess
to wipe the evidence of her shame from her mouth, careful not to slosh the
dirty water on her clean gown. How could she get the sick taste out of her
mouth? She didn’t dare drink any of the putrid water spurting into the sink.

She spit into the
toilet bowl until her mouth went dry. Her eyes watered from the physical strain
of throwing up and the fear of being caught. When she lifted her head to the
mirror over the sink to determine if she still looked presentable, she shrieked
and then slapped a hand over her mouth.

The face reflected
back at her was not her own. She pivoted to look behind her, but there was
nothing but a blank wall. When she turned to face the mirror again, she saw her
own face. There was no mistake. She’d seen someone else’s reflection. Who had
she seen in the mirror? Why was the woman crying? Why was there a look of
abject terror on her face? And why was she covered in blood?

Until The Unmistakable
Scent of Gardenias released, please check out my published books on my Amazon author page.

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Some stuff about me...

Denise wrote her
first story when she was in high school—seventeen hand-written pages on
school-ruled paper and an obvious rip-off of the last romance novel she read.
She earned a degree in accounting, giving her some nice skills to earn a little
money, but her passion has always been writing. She has written numerous short
stories and more than a few full-length novels. Her favorite pastimes when
she’s not writing are spending time with her family, traveling, reading, and
scrapbooking. She lives in Louisiana with the most wonderful husband and the two best children in the whole wide world.